


New Blood

by Saetha



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Hatesex, M/M, aggressive banging, arrogant babies, damn I had way WAY too much fun with this ahahaha, set right after s2 end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 13:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6196795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the end of season 2 - Flint and Vane are back on the ship and things need to be worked out between them. Some with words, some in other ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Ayyyyy, the first of three bday fics for my lovely and wonderful Ivana (aka theheirsofdurin on Tumblr aka the best person on the world and most awesome friend anyone could wish for) is here! Enjoy some Black Sails fun because yes I ship it and I have so much fun doing so. This was actually written several months back before even the beginning of Season 3 and you can't imagine how much I'm obviously enjoying the developments going on in that series now.

Captain James Flint had no emotions. Or so his crew always said; they had rarely seen their captain express anything but burning rage outright, although most of the time he seemed impassive, strongly believing in the right of his decisions. Rarely the sound of his laughter broke the air and when it did it was always unexpected, a strange sound that not so many of them had heard before. And since Gates had died, the Urca had been taken and the captain had been taken prisoner in Charlestown and yet miraculously returned alive, those instances had grown even rarer. And so it came as a surprise to everyone when he barked out a short bout of laughter to one of Captain Charles Vane's sentences. Most of all it came as a surprise to James Flint himself.

To be fair, everything had changed in the past few days, leaving his mind reeling and his heart gone. He was listening to everything Vane was saying with only half an ear - but somehow the grin splitting the man's face had prompted him to an answering quick laugh, even though it did nothing to alleviate the darkness inside him or the hole that Miranda's death had left behind. It still pained him that he hadn't been able to take out her body with him - what bitter irony, he thought, that the hadn't even been able to bury the two people who had meant most to him in this world.

Vane was entirely different. There was no doubt that he hated the man and the hatred was mutual. Flint had no illusions - that Vane had helped him in Charlestown had been out of purely selfish reasons. If Captain Flint was to die hanging from a noose, the pirates of Nassau would be finished. However, he could also not deny that there had been a certain degree of satisfaction, even dark enjoyment in fighting at his arch rival's side to obliterate the English and everyone who had given him so much pain over the past days.

And now Charles Vane was leaning on the railing of their ship next to him, cigarette in mouth and talking about what they would do once they got back to Nassau. Flint knew that there would be a lot of negotiations still to come about the details of just what this 'rescue mission' would cost him, but he was loathe to have the conversation outside on the ship where everybody would be able to see and, more importantly listen in on them.

"If your men haven't drunk it all yet, there should still be some good rum in my cabin," he said in the middle of one of Vane's sentences. The other captain shut up and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Flint shrugged.

"Negotiations always go easier with rum," he stated, staring into Vane's eyes and daring him to contradict him and making a fool out of himself. Finally Vane gave a miniscule nod. Flint didn't wait for him, but made his way into the cabin, trusting that Vane would follow him.

Despite having grown attached to the Walrus in a way, the Spanish warship still had its benefits - larger cabins, for one thing, but also a rather good selection of spirits, although most of it had apparently been depleted by Vane's men in Flint's absence as he noticed. Some of the mess had been cleaned up already, the rest of it hadn't and Flint frowned in anger - he'd have to get the cabin clean again as soon as possible. He had already given orders that, as soon as he was able to be moved, Silver was to be transferred to his cabin as well for him to make sure that he didn't come up with any other mischief and that those who wished him ill would keep away from him.

Vane gave an appreciative nod when Flint opened the secret drawer in the captain's desk where he had hidden the best bottles as soon as he had taken over the cabin. From somewhere he even managed to procure two glasses, filling them quickly for both him and Vane. They sat and quietly emptied them a few times, relishing the sharp burn on their tongues and in their throats before Vane finally began speaking again.

"So what do you want?" he asked. He had no patience left for pleasantries. Vane raised his eyebrows at that, but refilled and emptied his glass again before speaking.

"Why would I want anything?"

"Because you always do," Flint snarled back. Vane smirked and leaned back, twirling his glass in his fingers before he spoke.

"A ship," he said, suddenly leaning forward, the intense gaze from his eyes drilling into Flint's. "And no more attacks from your crew on mine."

"If I remember correctly, it was _your_ crew that attacked mine," Flint remarked. Of course he had been informed about the events on board as soon as he had set foot back on the Spanish Warship.

"And they were punished appropriately," Vane waved his objections aside. "The point is that the entire English Navy will be on our tail now. And we will have to fight if we do not want Nassau to fall. And for that, I will need a ship."

Flint snorted. He knew that Vane was right; but he had little patience with the man. He was not his errand boy. First and foremost, he wanted to take his revenge on England for all the pain they had caused him and his loved ones.

"And where, pray, am I supposed to get one from?" he asked Vane who shrugged in reply.

"You are a shrewd captain," was the answer. "You will think of something."

The threat behind his voice was distant, but still audibly there.

"Or?" Flint asked, his hand inching towards the pistol the he had put on the table. Vane smirked quickly before his face turned serious again.

"Or Nassau, the Nassau the we know and love, will die."

"You think to sway me with putting Nassau above your own desires? I'm disappointed, Vane. You of all should know that I have little trust in personal promises."

Something inside his voice seemed to finally drive Charles Vane over the edge. He jumped up on his feet with a snarl, grasping the front of Flint's collar in the same movement. His other hand closed around Flint's as he wanted to lift his pistol to defend himself.

"For fuck's sake," Vane hissed. "Did a bullet graze your head? This about neither of us, it's about _Nassau_ and our livelihood! What happened to you in Charlestown that you have suddenly given up on everything? Did that whore's death mean so much to y-"

He never finished his sentence for Flint freed himself from his grip with a loud snarl.

"Don't you _dare,_ " he spat, "speak about her that way _ever again_. She had more greatness inside her than you or I ever will. And England will pay for what they have done to her, to _us_." Flint could barely think for all the fury in his mind. The images of the last days and the past mixed together into a black storm that was raging inside him, a chorus of voices that never stopped. Once he had been able to keep them quiet enough to hear his own thinking, but since he had seen Miranda die with a bullet in her head that had changed. Now the clamouring for revenge, for _blood_ , was so loud that he could barely hear anything else.

"You're going soft," Vane sneered, although he had to be well aware of the warning glint in Flint's eyes that told him he was going too far. It was all it took to drive Flint over the edge; with a growl he sprang forwards from his table and pulled Vane forwards, too, so that he could deliver a blow to his face. Somehow using his bare fists seemed fitting, a much more personal thing than making use of any weapon.

Vane almost seemed like he had been waiting for it, quick to duck out of the way of Flint's fist and try to deliver a knee to his stomach instead. Flint took the hit with a grunt even as pain exploded in his middle and managed to grab Vane by the shoulder to twist him around and slam him against the wall, trying to immobilise him and get his own hands close to the man's windpipe.

Vane struggled and Flint was reminded once more of how strong he was, almost equalling his own strength. Neither of them cared when fabric ripped in their fight and their movements became rougher, both far too engrossed with finally fighting out the anger that had been pent up inside them for so long. A growl formed deep in his throat as Flint managed to pin Vane against the wall once more, their gazes locking for a single moment.

Something inside Vane's eyes gave him pause for a split second -he couldn't tell what it was, but something was different in them. A hunger that went beyond mere anger, a swirling darkness so alike to his own pent up desires that it almost sent a shiver down his neck. Vane twisted under his grip, the bulging of his muscles not entirely lost on Flint. He didn't even know who of them moved first - him or Vane, but suddenly their lips and teeth were crashing together in a gesture that had nothing to do with love, and everything with venting rage and trying to assert dominance.

Vane was nothing like Thomas and for that, Flint was grateful. He was nothing like Miranda, either, for he had only demanded where it had been given freely with her. Now it hurt where there would have been only gentleness from the people of his past. In a strange, twisted way it felt good, better than Flint would have ever admitted to himself. It was what he needed in this moment, no meaningless gestures of sympathy or attempts of comfort would have helped - what he needed was to spill his rage with someone who was his equal, exhaust himself in a fight until he fell into soundless sleep for the first time in days.

His grip around Vane's wrist remained but he could feel the other struggle beneath his fingers, straining to get free. Vane growled something unintelligible deep inside his throat and Flint could feel his teeth drawing blood from his lips as he was biting down hard. Flint responded by digging the fingers of his other hand deep into Vane's skin, marking him that he would bear signs of their struggle for all to see. He could feel Vane squirming, but they were evenly matched in strength and so his resistance was futile. It was only when Vane’s mouth came down his throat, leaving a trail of rapidly darkening bite marks that Flint moved again; he loosened the grip of one hand to nestle with Vane’s shirt, in the same moment that Vane freed his wrist and cupped the rapidly growing bulge in Flint’s pants.

“Is this what you need then?” Vane hissed. “A good fuck? I’m willing to oblige.”

“Fuck you,” Flint drawled, unable to prevent the heat from rising up slowly inside him. One glance at Vane’s face showed him that the other pirate was no less aroused. There was a faint tremor in the muscles under the thin fabric of Vane’s shirt as Flint slid his hand over them, leaving scratches in his wake. Vane growled and surged forwards to bite Flint’s earlobe, a groan unwillingly escaping Flint at the sensation. He could feel Vane’s answering smirk against his skin before a wave of heat swept over him when Vane’s fingers loosened the laces of his pants and snaked down inside.

Flint couldn’t quite recall the sequence of the events that followed afterwards – he only knew they found themselves crashing to the floor at some point, growls escaping their throats as they both tried to gain in the upper hand in what was more fight than sex although it satisfied urges that neither of them would ever openly talk about. The next minutes seemed to go by as if in a rush, neither of them speaking much beyond the occasional muttered curse as they fought for dominance, before they recovered their senses, lying panting on the floor not far away from each other.

Flint rolled away as far as possible from Vane as he was catching his breath. His mind was still reeling and his skin felt hot and flushed from the sex before even as he was slowly gaining back his senses.

"Satisfied now?" Vane growled breathlessly.

"Get the fuck out, Vane," Flint shot back, meaning every single word of it. Vane just laughed roughly in response, sounding like he had just heard the joke of his life. However, he did push himself up onto his knees slowly, staring down at Flint who hurried to get up as well to be on the same level again. Flint made a point to stare at him as he was fingering at the laces of his trousers to get them closed again. Vane smirked and pointedly let his gaze travel up and down Flint's body one last time before he turned around and slammed the door closed behind him.


End file.
